Enough
by Roaddog 469
Summary: A nice bit of Wicki smut. Wicki/OFC.Not much else to say, really...
1. Chapter 1

******AUTHOR'S NOTE: Watched Inglourious Basterds the other day and was once again overcome by the desire to close my eyes and replay all Wicki scenes over and over again just to listen to his voice. Then thought, 'Hey! Let's go read some Wicki smut' only to find that there wasn't much, so I just figured I'd write some. Once again, simply a smutty story with an OFC/Wicki pairing. Enjoy…or not. Review…or not. Thanks!******

Last night in the town and the Basterds were taking advantage. Their next assignment was a

good piece from where they were sitting. In the grand scheme of things it really wasn't that long of a walk, but Tranquilite had gotten comfortable, and leaving it meant sleeping two to a blanket to keep from freezing. Cold forests and colder food. Never being completely dry or rested, with nothing but the smell of unwashed men to lull you into a restless sleep at night.

Not that it was all bad, Wilhelm Wicki thought to himself, grinning into his mug, out of town meant back on the hunt, ambushing Nazis, and that pleasure was well worth any discomfort. Looking around, he could see the rest of his squad's anxiousness at the prospect of some real violence. The slight stiffening of their postures, the rough handling of anyone near them. Most had paired off and disappeared with one of the many whores in the tiny town. Donny was in a dark, smoky corner with one, her leg hooked over his hip, a frantic, barely subdued violence to his movements. The Lieutenant was sitting at another table, drink on the table, harlot in his lap, whetstone in one hand and his buck-knife in the other. Stiglitz sat in another corner, cigarette burning, throwing down shots of whiskey and watching the room with cold, blue eyes, taking everything in.

Wicki finished his mug and thumped it down, drawing the attention of the whore who dispensed the alcohol. Having been told to keep it coming, she rose quickly and drew another draught, bringing it to Wicki and taking away his empty. He slapped her on the ass almost absent-mindedly as she walked away. He wasn't normally so forward with women, but it was almost rude not to do that to a whore. You may hurt her feelings, he thought to himself, leaning back in his chair until the back touched the wall behind him.

Across the room, Stiglitz flashed him a rare smile, the one that screamed bloodshed and madness, and tilted his head towards the front door. Wicki followed his gaze and stared at the closed door. He was about to look back at Stiglitz to see what he was on about, when the door opened and Carolina walked in.

Wicki leaned forward bringing all four chair legs to the ground with a crash and motioned for the barmaid to bring a shot of whiskey. Carolina sashayed over to him, lifted her skirt and sat down, straddling his lap. She locked her lips onto his so insistently that Wicki was barely aware of anything but the warm, springy quality of her body that betrayed her lack of undergarments. Somewhere his mind registered the arrival of her drink and raucous cheers from Donny. He fastened his hands onto her hips to thoroughly enjoy their slow, sinuous movement against his own. Driven to distraction by her body, he had neglected his duty to her lips and she sighed against his mouth to draw his attention back. Focused now, he met her lips with the urgency that she needed and soon sated, she slowly withdrew.

Pulling back, she afforded him a closer look at her. Her crow's feather hair was unbound and falling far enough past her shoulders that as she moved it lightly brushed Wicki's hands, still on her hips. Her copper colored skin shone in the dim light of the tavern. Her amber eyes were nearly hidden by her thickly lashed eyelids half-closed with desire. Her full lips, swollen from kissing, parted as she panted, wanting his mouth on hers again. Her blouse was red and off one shoulder, a multi-colored scarf tied haphazardly around her full waist, and her black ankle-length skirt was pooled on Wicki's lap.

Leaning back in his chair, he eyed her appraisingly. She grinned, twisting slightly as his eyes traveled over her. Slowly his eyes trailed back up her body, meeting her anxious ones. She raised her eyebrows at him, expectantly. He smiled slightly, keeping her waiting, reached behind her, taking his mug and her own shot. "Come on," she pouted, prettily, taking her drink from his hand. He took a deliberately slow pull on his mug. "Sprechen," she insisted, thrusting her hips against his a little more aggressively.

He raised his own mug slightly at her, "Guten abend, meine liebe."

She sighed contentedly, clasping her free hand to her naked skin just above the swell of her breast. Leaning forward to put his mug down on the table behind her, he put his mouth close to her ear and continued whispering to her in German about how much he wanted to haul down her blouse and bury his face in her breasts. Lick his way down her body, slide two fingers into her and then proceed to fuck her so solidly that she wouldn't be able to remember her own name.

She had no idea what he was saying, but his voice was like honey poured into her ears. She had never thought the Kraut's language particularly pretty, even before the occupation, but there was just something about this Jew's deep, rich voice that was incredibly erotic. As he continued, her breathing became heavier and her hips moved against his, and he could feel the moist heat of her through his pants.

As he started to move away, she took a sip of her drink and captured his chin between her thumb and forefinger. Pulling him to her, she kissed him solidly again. Her mouth was soft, but insistent on his tasting of whiskey and her own sweetness. He returned the kiss with fervor, sliding one hand up her back to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer to him. His other hand, traced the lines of strong muscles up her calf to her thigh.

Now, Wilhelm Wicki had been raised in a cultured home. One that abhorred violence, sin and vice. Of course all of that had been a lifetime ago. Before the hatred and evil of the Third Reich had destroyed all he held dear. Even his current life as a Jewish avenging angel had roots in a deeply held system of beliefs that provided for the punishment of wickedness.

And, frankly, he loved it. The hot spray against his hand as an artery was severed. A Nazi's body limp against his own as its life drained away. The shameful sense of triumph and joy as a scalp came free in his hand. He had accepted the necessity of violence in the world as it was. Even so, Wicki took great pains to keep the other sins in his life at a respectable level.

That being said, he had justified his "relationship" with Carolina by reasoning that since he hadn't been the aggressor or pursuer it really wasn't his doing. He was merely being accommodating. He had, in fact, been accommodating her left, right, and center every chance he got for the last month.


	2. Chapter 2

The Basterds had been moving slowly north through France, making their way to the small village of Tranquilite where they were to collect a mail drop with instructions concerning their movements. Everything had been quiet in the wooded area off the main road until Stiglitz suddenly appeared out of nowhere, as was his habit. He had been on point and had come back to tell them that a truck carrying Gestapo officers was heading for a Gypsy encampment.

A quick double-time down a trail Stiglitz had found brought them into the camp just in time to see the last of the inhabitants fighting to stay out of the back of the truck. The Basterds quickly spread out, surrounding the truck, catching the Nazis in a crossfire, and shredding them.

When the last officer dropped , the Basterds waded in, delegating tasks without needing to be told. Stiglitz patrolled the perimeter, making sure they wouldn't be caught unawares. Aldo and Utivich rolled the officers, searching for any intelligence or supplies they could find. Wicki and Omar helped the survivors from the truck, as the others removed the scalps.

As the Gypsies hit the ground they took off into the woods, disappearing and Wicki had just helped the last girl down, when Stiglitz appeared again. Three more trucks loaded down with troops were approaching from the south.

The words had no more left Stiglitz's mouth when gunfire started raining down from the road behind them. Far out-numbered, Aldo made the call to break for cover and meet at the rally point at sundown. Wicki wasn't even aware that he still held the girl's hand and was dragging her through the woods until she stumbled against his back.

Looking back at her, he could tell that even as young and fit as she seemed, she likely hadn't been eating well since the occupation and it was showing. She was short of breath and moving slower with every passing step. Now that he had dragged her this far, he couldn't very well just leave her at the mercy of any Germans who may have been giving chase. It would have been the same as leaving her in the truck in the first place.

He stopped short, looking around for shelter, and she ran straight into the back of him. Now halted, she pulled her hand from his grip and pitched forward both hands on her thighs, gasping for breath. Looking behind, Wicki was reasonably certain they hadn't been followed, but there was no sense in risking staying in the open. To his right he could see a small copse of close-knit trees. Moving closer, he could see a small area inside of the circle, easy to get in and it would be hard to be seen from the outside. Reaching back he put a hand in the small of her back, and she straightened. He led her from behind, keeping an eye on the woods around them. Pressing her inside, he followed behind her. Giving her a gentle shove, he squatted near the gap they had entered through, checking his ammo and scanning for pursuit.

Behind him, her breathing was slowing and Wicki was preparing to move out again, leaving the girl in her hiding place until she could make her own way home, when he saw movement in the forest, maybe a hundred yards away. A single German, an easy enough target to hit, but who knew how many more were moving around, unseen. Wicki pressed his back to a tree, scanning all around, when the girl tried to press past him into the open. If she just went stumbling out there, not only would she be recaptured, but she would give away his own position.

He grabbed her roughly, pulling her back and she fought against him. All too aware that too much noise would draw attention, he spun her around, pinning her bodily between himself and a tree. His chest to her back, he reached up, trying to cover her mouth, but found her throat instead. He squeezed lightly, just enough to let her feel his strength. Her struggle increased, digging her nails into his wrist.

He winced slightly at the sting and pushed harder against her, forcing her breath out. Pressing his face into her hair, his mouth a breath from her ear, he whispered, "Stop squirming. I'm not going to hurt you, but you have to keep quiet. I'm not going to hurt you." AT his voice her struggles lessened and she seemed to pause before she dug her nails in harder. He squeezed her throat harder in response, and she raised her hands in silent acquiescence. He kept his hand on her throat, but ceased any pressure, merely holding her in place. He could feel the air passing through her windpipe as he looked out searching for further movement and not seeing any.

His thumb absently stroked over her pulse and his fingers registered the frailty of her collarbone. He felt her skin flush against his palm, and heard her breath hitch. She arched her back, pressing her ass into his crotch and slowly moved side to side, rubbing hard against him. Wicki tried to ignore how great her warm body felt against his own, but it had been too long since a town and his own breath started coming faster. Panting against her ear, he realized that he hadn't really gotten a decent look at her, but as she guided his hand, from her throat down her shirt and over one round heavy breast, he decided that he didn't care. Clasping a nipple between two dirty fingers, he massaged her breast, as a small sound between a moan and a whisper escaped her lips.

It was getting very difficult for him to concentrate on watching for pursuit, but it seemed like the Nazi had truly been alone and he breathed a small sigh of relief against her ear and she shivered. She continued the slow rotation of her hips, grinding against him, and Wicki was now fully hard. She slid one hand down his side, found his thigh and started massaging it, and her other hand reached up, running slender fingers through his hair, pulling his head down towards her neck. "Keep talking," she whispered, her voice breathy.

"About what?" he asked, his voice a whisper against her neck.

"I don't care," she sighed, rolling her head back onto his shoulder. "Just talk. I like your voice," she mewled.

Wicki's mind was a total blank, he couldn't think of anything to say except the pledge he had learned for his American citizenship. As he started whispering about allegiances and renouncing, she shivered against his body, panting, her breasts heaving. The hand she had been using to push his face close to her slid down her own body and disappeared into the skirt that she was wearing.

At the end of his pledge, Wicki started randomly quoting snippets of literature memorized when he was still in school and her hand slid inward from his thigh, rubbing against the throbbing inside of his pants. He gasped, tossing his weapon further into the trees, he pulled his hand out from his shirt. She made a nasal sound of protest until both his hands were sneaking under her blouse, one sliding up to resume its attention to her breast, and the other moving slowly south, tracing her arm to her slick opening. She gasped as his fingers found her clit, tugging expertly. Her hand that had been massaging his member through his pants, slid upwards, trying one-handed to get his pants undone. Removing his hand from her blouse, he quickly managed to unfasten his belt, buttons, and zipper, his pants catching momentarily on his aching erection, but soon he got them down completely.

She brought her hand to her mouth and licked it, wetting her palm, then slid it back between them. Her wet nimble fingers stroking him to momentary silence. She giggled throatily, turning to face him, only missing a stroke when she reversed her grip. Using his member as a steering wheel, she turned him around, putting his back to the tree. Her free hand was fumbling at his shirt, her mouth moving over all the skin she could reach.

Moving slowly down his body, she knelt in front of him, hauling down his shorts as she went, her hand still expertly stroking. Her breath when she spoke was hot against his cock, "Lay down," she whispered, pulling him down with her.

Truthfully, Wicki had become so weak-in-the-knees it was almost a favor to be able to hit the ground. She gently, but insistently, pushed him onto his back as she hovered over him, still fully clothed, she gently took his hands and used them to replace her own on his cock, as she stood. Her hands went to the bottom of her shirt, preparing to pull it over her head, Wicki wetting his lips in anticipation. "Sorry," she said, quietly, as her bare foot kicked a cloud of leaves and dirt over him.

Wicki, coughing, was up like a shot. Rubbing his eyes, trying to get the dirt out as he stood pulling his pants up. Once his vision was clear and his pants once again respectable, he grabbed his weapon (the real one) and poked his head out of his hiding place, searching for any trace of the girl. But she was gone.

Wicki, needless to say, didn't mention this little incident to anyone when he reconnected with his unit. He was a little grouchier than usual, however, until they finally made it to Tranquilite.

It was the third night in the tavern when she walked in. Seeing as how he had gotten only brief glimpses of her face at their first encounter, it had taken him a few minutes to recognize her and when he did he wasn't sure if he wanted to shoot her or fuck her.

Ordering a shot of whiskey, she felt his eyes on her. Turning, she half-smiled at him, then turned back to the bar, asking for a mug of beer. Lifting them both, she headed towards him.

She was stopped short of his table by Donny, flanked by Utivich and Hirschberg. Donny, apparently elected spokesman, began to speak, his nasal Boston becoming even more pronounced in his advanced drunken state. "Hey, sweetheart," he began, "Why don't you come over to our table and put those tits of yours to good use."

The girl, who stood five foot nothing in her barefeet, eyed each of them individually, then looked Donowitz up and down critically. "Three of you," she started, "but I only have two teats. Who'll nurse the spare? Because trust me, young ones, the three of you put together couldn't handle anything else."

"Aw," the three of them said in unified indignation as she sashayed past them towards the table where Wicki and Stiglitz sat puffing up a sweet-scented cloud of German cigarette smoke.

She placed the mug down in front of Wicki, her shot beside it, the turned to pull up a chair from a neighboring table. She plunked it down close enough to Wicki that he had to move his cigarette quickly to avoid catching her hair on fire. She sat with a huff, one arm on the table and the other on the back of his chair, her fist supporting her head. She leaned into Wicki. "Hello, again," she said casually.

Wicki nodded at her politely and Stiglitz in a rare moment of social etiquette rose quietly and moved to a table with Omar. She nudged the drink closer to his hands, "An extension of my first apology, which I doubt you accepted as sincere." Her eyes flicked over his face, as she threw back her whiskey. After replacing the glass on the table, her hand slid under the table, planting itself on his chair, between his knees. "I could have taken full advantage of your, ahem, distraction and brained you with a rock, but I didn't. Didn't want to, you see. I only needed to get away." Wicki at this point was surprised enough that he couldn't speak. "It wasn't anything personal, you understand. It's only that I care for my grandmother and my sister's three children. All alone since my sister and her husband were taken in the trucks, a month ago. I couldn't risk you delaying me for long. They could have been discovered. You understand?"

Wicki, considering, took a drag on his cigarette which she eyed with something close to lust. Her eyes were wide and honest and though he didn't feel any less stupid, he didn't feel quite as angry. Breathing smoke out of his nose, he nodded at her. She sighed quickly, as though now she felt better about it. She didn't, however, remove her hand from his chair or put space between their bodies. Wicki snubbed out his cigarette and took a sip from the mug she had brought him.

"You aren't going to say you forgive me?" she asked.

He shook his head, offering her a cigarette from his pack. She took one and held his hand a little longer than necessary as he offered her a light. She drug deeply on the cigarette, blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth. "Why not?" she asked, breathily against his ear, as she crossed one leg over both of his. Her breast pressing firm and round against his arm.

He smirked, raising the mug to his mouth. "Was talking to you that got me into trouble last time," he said, drinking deeply.

She took aggressive hold of his free hand and guided it under her skirt and up her leg to the moist heat growing between her thighs, "Feel what talking will get you into this time," she said, her breath hot against his ear.

Wicki nearly choked, but managed to swallow and put his mug down, eyeing her with what he hoped was a suspicious look, but he could feel his face flushing with excitement and he was sure that with her leg across his lap, she could feel exactly how interested he was.

She grinned wickedly at him, enjoying the shocked color creeping into his face, the feeling of his erection pressing into the back of her knee. She leaned closer, licking small spirals on his neck, running one hand though his hair.

He surprised both of them when, without preamble, he slid a finger into her moist opening. Her hand clenched in his hair and her breath and her tongue paused. She breathed out a sigh against his neck, damp with her spit and she slid across his lap, straddling him, now rocking slowly against his hand.

She grabbed his head pulling his mouth to hers, kissing him hard, insistently. Wicki moved his free hand up her thigh squeezing one firm cheek before moving up her back, wrapping a fist in her hair, pulling their lips apart, she sighed in protest, but didn't stop her hips from their torturously slow rhythm. He kissed down her throat, her chest, dipping his tongue below the collar of her blouse, tasting the sweet saltiness of her sweat. She sighed in pleasure, goosebumps erupting under his tongue, she held his head to her chest. Nipping the skin of her throat hard, he slid a second finger into her and applied solid pressure to her clit with his thumb. She shrieked out loud and arched back over the table. Wicki could feel her muscles clenching around her fingers. At the edge of his hearing he could hear Aldo and Donny offering payment to the barmaid for the use of an empty room. Wicki was going to offer to pay himself, when the girl roughly took hold of the hand beneath her skirt, pulled it to her mouth and took both of the fingers he had had inside of her into her mouth, suckling hard. The sensation blocked out all other information.

Standing up, he used his own groin to press her onto the table, flat on her back. She locked her ankles behind his back, squeezing him to her. Wicki was actually reaching down to undo his fly and fuck her right there on the table, when Donny came up behind him, screaming something about a room upstairs.

The girl was apparently still following the conversation, because she sat up, her arms around his neck, holding on as his senses returned and he grabbed two handfuls of her ass, settling her knees on his hips. She locked her mouth onto his, her strong tongue pushing into his mouth. Wicki stumbled his way towards the stairs, the girl clawing at his back through his clothes. Somehow Wicki made it up the stairs and pushed into a room. As he put the girl down on her feet and she proceeded to rip open his shirt, he was vaguely aware of a pissed off, half-naked Omar and his female companion being pelted with flying buttons as they made a hasty exit assisted by Donny and the Lieutenant.

The door had barely closed behind them and she was on him again. Her soft full mouth playing over his naked chest and her nimble fingers working on his belt. Her small hands settled on his hips and began pushing him towards the bed.

Once the bed hit the back of his knees he tumbled backwards and she was on top of him, opening his fly and freeing his erection. Seizing her by an arm, he pulled her up his body, rucking her skirt up around her waist, he slammed her down onto his cock. She cried out and her back arched, pressing her breasts forward. Wicki sat up enough to haul down her blouse, her breasts spilling out, grabbing a handful of each, he pulled her down to him, popping a hard, dark nipple into his mouth, he massaged the other with his thumb.

She was moaning loudly now, moving herself up and down his cock, sinking her nails into the flesh of his stomach. Her slow and sinuous movement was sexy as hell, but it was not enough for him. He was too turned on now. He wanted fast. He wanted hard. And he wanted it NOW! With one quick movement he rolled her to one side, pinning her underneath him. He grabbed one of her legs and hauled it up over his shoulder, opening her wide for him. He slammed into her over and over again; and her moaning got louder and louder. She slipped her hands under his shirt and raked her nails down his back, drawing blood. Wincing, Wicki leaned down, clamping his teeth around one nipple. The pitch of her cries changed dramatically and Wicki could feel every muscle in her body start to tense. Increasing his own rate, he released her nipple and grabbed one of her wrists pinning it above her head as he pounded her now quivering form into the mattress. He could feel his balls seize up and he unloaded into her, his own body going limp against her.

When he came back to himself he realized that his throat hurt, as if he'd been screaming, but he didn't remember doing it. He had collapsed on top of the girl, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she was so glassy-eyed and unfocused he wasn't even sure she knew he was there.

He pulled out of her and rolled to one side, realizing when his body hit the bed that he was still more or less fully-clothed. Her, too, now that he was in possession of his senses. He reached a shaky hand over and smoothed hair off of her sweaty forehead. Slowly her eyes began to focus and she turned to him catching his hand in both of hers. "Do you know how long you have this room for?" she asked her voice scratchy.

"No," he answered simply, " but I say we stay until they run us out."

"Good," she said, her eyes drooping. "Cause I want to do that again as many times as we can."

Wicki smiled slightly, as his own eyes closed, then sprung open again. "What's your name, Schatze?"

She smirked, "Carolina. Yours?"

"Wicki," he replied, "Wilhelm Wicki."

"Wicki," she repeated, her eyes closing.


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, they had had the room for the whole night, and they made good use of it. And so began the routine of them fucking each others brains loose each and every night both were in the tavern. Nights the Basterds were on some maneuver, Carolina would come in, hang out for a while, then go home and nights that she had to stay at home to care for her charges, Wicki would come in, have a drink or two with Sitglitz, then go back to clean his gun or sharpen his knife.

Tonight was different, though. With a little luck and clear forest , the Basterds would be two towns gone by the time night fell tomorrow. Their new orders had come through in spades. They were headed to a small town called Nadine to meet a British Special Ops lieutenant. The Basterds were leaving Tranquilite with the knowledge that Germans were preparing to move en force through the region they now occupied, burning out, killing, or putting into trucks everyone they found.

Aldo had been very specific about not telling too many people about what was coming for fear of the information getting back to German collaborators and bringing about all kinds of awkward questions about where the information had come from and once their cover was blown they would be far too easy to track. Moving his hands over Carolina's body, a body that he had gotten to know as well as his own in the last month, he knew he had to warn her. But not here, not in earshot of Aldo. "Walk with me, Schatze," he rumbled in her ear.

She shivered slightly against him, kissed him again and gracefully rose to her feet. Wicki left some money on the table, ran an arm around her waist, and led her outside. She walked deliberately into the woods and since Wicki had no real destination in mind he followed her lead.

The autumn night was crisp and cool, but not yet cold. The trees devoid of their coverings whispered above them as their feet stirred the blanket of dead leaves on the ground. He smelled the water long before he saw it. That wet wood, dead fish smell that reminded him of a lake his family would go to on holiday…before. She pulled away from him, taking his hand and leading him down an overgrown path to a blanket laid out in a clearing at the side of a body of water, too small to be a lake, but too deep to be a pond. He let her hand go and he stood staring at the moon reflecting on the water for a moment.

"Come over here," she said after a silent minute, patting the blanket beside her. He grinned lopsided and wandered over.

Flopping down beside her, he laid back putting an arm out to her. She laid back beside him, absorbing his warmth. Her hand, small, on his chest started rubbing small circles that progressed downward. His hand on the back of her neck stroked her hair, slowly pulling her face to his own.

The kissing that started slowly gradually became something more heated. She rose over him, straddling his hips, leaning forward, her hair fell over his face like a perfumed curtain. Her body against his felt so good he did *not * want to stop, but he pressed insistently against her shoulders, halting her attentions.

"What?" she asked, her breath barely a whisper.

"Schatze," he said sitting up, scooting her back onto the tops of his thighs. "You need to run. Tonight."

She arched an eyebrow at him, "Why? Because of the German advance?" He gaped at her openly, and she laughed a rich, throaty sound. "Wicki, we've known for sometime."

"Then why are you still here?"

She shrugged. "I've placed my sister's boys with families where they should be safe, but my grandmother…" she trailed off and he watched her face. "She's too sick to move, and I won't leave her."

"Schatze," he began, tucking hair behind her ear.

"But I knew you would be leaving soon, so I wanted to bring you out here."

"Schatze," he interrupted.

"I really like you, Wicki, and I wanted you to have a night of peace before you went out again."

"Carolina," he said, slightly more forcefully. "You need to get out. They are putting anyone they don't kill on the trucks to the camps. Neither of you will make it out of there."

She cast her eyes down, lightly touching his chest as if trying to remember it. "I can't leave her."

"You'll both be killed," he said severely. "If you don't leave, you'll die."

"Would you do it?" she asked, meeting his eyes seriously. "Your family? You said your sisters were killed before you and your parents got your papers to emigrate. If you had the chance to leave without them, would you have done it?"

He was silent as he thought about it. He knew the answer already. He had, in fact, had the chance to leave alone before his sisters had been killed, but he wouldn't leave his family. He couldn't honestly ask her to do the same. He looked into her eyes and she read what she had already known.

"Right," she agreed with his unspoken acknowledgement. Her face was somber with the understanding of the consequences of her choice. She knew she would most likely be killed with her grandmother or be taken to the camps where she would die slowly. She looked older and Wicki wanted more than anything to tell her that it would be ok. He touched her face gently. "So," she said, eyes lighting up, as she pushed her worries out of her mind. "You had better come keep me warm," pulling off her shirt and stepping backwards towards the water's edge, "while you can," she finished as she slid her skirt off her hips. Standing there, naked in the moonlight, her skin darker than it was in the candlelight of the tavern. The black hair on her head and the thatch between her legs seeming to absorb the moonbeams.

He raised his eyes to hers, "It's freezing."

"Don't be a sissy," she said, turning and wading into the water up to her shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she went underwater, emerging closer, in shallower water. Her breasts tight, nipples hard beckoned to him. He took his boots off without ever removing his eyes from her. Standing up he removed his own clothing. When his bare toes touched the frigid water he could feel his manhood try to crawl up into his stomach. She arched an eyebrow, smirking. He raised a finger in mock warning, "Not one word."

She laughed throatily, a full smile on her face and backstroked away from him. He slowly advanced giving his body time to adjust to the water temperature. Within arms distance she reached out to him, slipping a slender arm around his shoulders. He pulled her close, her body slick against his own. Barely warmer than he and almost weightless, she moved against him, her erect nipples insistent against his chest as she wrapped her legs around his hips. Holding tight to his neck, and using her thighs she gave herself enough leverage to slip one familiar hand between them and guide him to her entrance. She slowly lowered herself onto him and Wicki's knees nearly gave out at the sensation.

The warm moisture inside of her made all the more intense because of the cold water. Wicki lowered his mouth to the spot where her shoulders met her neck, inhaling deeply the scent of her as he wrapped an arm around his waist, his other hand at the small of her back, tracing up her spine then cupping her slender neck between his thumb and forefinger.

She moved against him, fiercely gripping his shoulders with her fingers as she rode him. Wicki unable to move much without losing his balance and sending them both into the water, clenched and unclenched his fist in her hair kissing up and down her neck. Her breath was coming quicker as he felt her thighs tighten around his waist, nearing release. She started to whimper as she sped up, her body frictionless against his, wet and warm. "Wicki," she whispered against his neck, he could feel his balls seizing up, preparing to unload his seed into her. The blood rushing through his ears was probably the reason he didn't hear the footsteps approaching through the woods, but there was no mistaking the metallic clack-clack of a round being chambered. They both heard it and froze.


	4. Chapter 4

Carolina didn't understand the German that was being hurled at them, but the two Nazis standing at the edge of the water, gesturing wildly with their guns for the two of them to get out was unmistakable. "Don't panic," Wicki said into her ear, his voice barely a whisper.

"I'm not," she replied in a shaky voice as she disentangled herself from him.

"Walk out ahead of me. Don't cover up. Head to our clothes. If they try to tell you otherwise, pretend you don't understand."

"I **don't** understand," she said, moving in front of him.

She could feel the smile cross his lips as he stood close behind her. Very close behind her. Pressed against her in fact. He held her shoulders tightly, keeping her ass flush against his crotch. "Are you planning to fuck me as a distraction?"

"If they see me naked, we're both dead."

She furrowed her brow for a second before the fact that he was circumcised hit her like a ton of bricks. She relaxed under his hands and continued her march. "Get past my boots and stumble. Hit the ground and I'll take care of the rest." The Germans snarled at them and Wicki responded then fell silent. She could feel the tension running through him like a tiny electrical current.

The Germans stood on the other side of the blanket and she watched their grips on their weapons loosen by a fraction as she walked naked out of the water. So far so good she thought as she cast her eyes down trying to see Wicki's boots in the darkness. With as much moonlight as there was tonight, it shouldn't have been a problem, but damn if she could see them. She was scanning frantically back and forth when the Germans started ranting again. She could hear the tone of Wicki's voice change as he replied, the tension running through his body leaking into his speech. What little relaxation her nudity had inspired was rapidly slipping away and she still couldn't see his damn boots, she was still scanning when she felt a hard shove to her back and she went face down into the dirt. She heard shouting in German, a metallic scraping, a whooshing sound, followed by a meaty thunk.

Rubbing the dirt out of her eyes, Carolina sat up. Wicki was gone, one Nazi was down, a very large knife sticking out of his chest, still twitching slightly. The other German was shouting and turning in circles, trying to pinpoint Wicki. Carolina looked around as well. She couldn't even hear him, but she knew he wouldn't have gone far.

Rounding on her with his pistol, the remaining German began shouting frantically at her. She raised her hands to shoulder level, palms out, certainly making it clear that she was a threat. He continued babbling at her as he came closer. Her eyes went wide, this boy (the Nazi couldn't have been much older that 16) was scared out of his mind and could very well shoot her entirely by accident.

He stopped talking suddenly, focusing on a spot in the trees behind Carolina. He took another step towards her when a hand snaked out of nowhere behind him, seizing his chin, pulling it back exposing the throat to the blade that came out of nowhere on the other side of his body. The slice was so quick, Carolina didn't even see it happen. One instant the the boy was alive, terror lighting his features, the next a hot splatter struck her face and she closed her eyes against it as she heard the body hit the ground.

Getting a grip on herself, she opened her eyes. Wicki stood before her looming over the bodies, naked, blade in hand still dripping. His eyes were distant, his features remote and still. She didn't move to wipe the blood from her face for fear that she would disturb him and bring him back from where he was before he was ready for it. Slowly the tension drained from him. His eyes showed a spark of life. His shoulders slumped slightly and the color returned to the white knuckles of his hand as he loosened his grip on the blade. He exhaled deeply, his breath a fog in the night that had suddenly gotten very cold. She shivered involuntarily and it drew his attention. Dropping the blade, he knelt down in front of her, grabbing his own coat to drape over her shoulders. "Schatze, he said, holding her hands between his, sticky with drying blood. "Are you hurt?"

She blinked at him, and shook her head. "Let me look at you," he said, putting a gentle hand beneath her chin and lifting it. His brow furrowed, when the light hit the blood splattered across her cheek and nose. "Schatze," he said, apology in his voice. Reaching he managed to grab his own shirt and used it to softly clean her face. She met his eyes, as warm now as they had ever been, but she read worry there. Worried that now she had seen him in his element. Ashamed, that she had seen the pleasure that he had gained from it.

Reaching up she held his face between her hands and pulled him gently towards her. She met his lips without fear, without outrage or disgust. She kissed him softly, her tongue a whisper in his mouth, her thumbs gently stroking his cheek. He returned the kiss in similar fashion his hands loosely held around her neck.

When she broke from his mouth, the vulnerability she had glimpsed there was gone. "You see why you must run. What if I hadn't been here?" 

"If you hadn't been here, I wouldn't have been here," she countered.

He grunted as he moved away from her, mumbling to himself as he gathered their clothes. She pulled his coat closer around himself, smiling as she watched him, catching snippets of his rantings. Something about 'hard-headed' 'women' 'know what good for her.' She rolled her eyes and shook her head, running her hands up and down her bare arms for wamth.

Strong arms seized her from behind, lifting her to her feet. She hadn't even heard him go around behind her. He was back to the day they first met, back to a soldier, a killer. "Come on," he said, against her ear, his voice rough-edged still glided over her senses, like satin over naked skin, "we need to move."

They hurriedly dressed, moving quickly back to town. IN front of the tavern, they both stopped, realizing this would be goodbye.

"So you'll be gone in the morning?" she asked her eyes cast down, worried that if she faced him it would be real.

"Tonight, probably, after…" he trailed off making a gesture towards the woods where they had left the bodies. "The Lt. will want to get out quick." She nodded, meeting his eyes. "Please run, Carolina."

She gave him a sad smile, "You know I won't."

He sighed, "I know."

"Besides," she said, "how is my staying any more dangerous than you going? You're off to some secret dangerous mission, am I right? How are you safer than me?"

"I carry a knife," his voice was edged and she shivered a little at the memory of that knife and she had to clutch his hands tighter to keep from wiping the phantom blood from her face.

"I'm no withering flower, you know," she said, stepping to him. "I'm not just going to lay down and die. How about you?" she asked, her free hand light on his cheek.

"No," he said as he stepped into her, his mouth the barest inch from her own.

"Ok, then," she said, tilting her head to regard his mouth. "Then I say we make a deal."

She closed her eyes, drinking in his scent, the warmth of him next to her. "This war cant' go on forever, right?"

"Ja, meine Lieben."

She sighed against his neck, pressing her body against his, her hands on either side of his ribcage. "So when its over we meet. A year after all the hostilities stop. Say…Paris."

"Paris?" he snorted, his hands resting under her hair at the nape of her neck.

"What wrong with Paris?" she asked, mock angry. "I've always wanted to go and at least part of the city should survive. Near Eiffel's tower. Promise me you'll be there."

"Schatze," he said, admonishment in his voice as he pulled away from her. He didn't want to promise. Knew he might not be able to keep it.

"Promise," she said more forcefully, wrapping her tiny fists in his coat and pulling him back to her. "Promise me," her amber eyes leaking silent tears.

He raised a rough hand to her face, wiping tears away with his thumb on one side and kissing them away on the other. He held her face between his hands, staring intently at her. "Ich verspreche um zu versuchen, meine Liebe," he said, then pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, his mouth to her ear, "I promise to try," he repeated in English.

She squeezed back, nodding against his chest, "I guess that'll have to be good enough." Both turned their faces towards each other, their lips meeting, both their mouths salty from her tears. They kissed intently, each knowing that it was most likely the last time. When they finally pulled apart, her lips swollen and her face red from the irritation of his stubble, Wicki was out of breath.

"I have to go."

"Me too," she answered.

"A year after," he said taking her hand in his and brushing his lips over her cold knuckles.

"Paris. At Eiffel's Tower," she said stepping backwards, slowly pulling her hand out of his. Their fingers touched as long as they could, then her next step back he was beyond her reach. They both dropped their hands and stood, mere feet apart, but it may as well have been miles.

"Goodbye, Wilhelm," she said in a strong voice.

He smiled at her use of his given name, "Goodbye, Carolina."

She smiled sadly, then turned, shoulders straight, head high and walked away into the shadows of the empty street.


	5. Chapter 5

***Epilogue***

"Merci," the frail girl said with a sad smile as she took the baguette from the vendor. He nodded slightly as she stepped away. He shook his head once her back was turned as he watched her pull tiny pieces of bread from the whole and pop them in her mouth one at a time. She started her circuit of the tower, same as she had done everyday for the past week. Searching faces, never finding the one she sought.

Carolina walked slowly around the giant metal monstrosity that truly wasn't what she had hoped it would be. The tiny bits of bread were warring in her stomach. She was at a point now where she could eat almost like she used to, but here, it was different. Her memories had taken rough hold of her body and she didn't expect them to let go until she was safely at home.

Her body still had not come back to its former roundness. She didn't know if it ever would now. Thinking back to how she had looked when the American forces finally stumbled onto the camp, the bread in her stomach threatened to rise up, but breathing slowly through her nose she managed to quell it again.

She had cried herself to sleep the last night she and Wicki had spent together and by morning she had begun to think that she should have run, but it was too late by then. Her grandmother, too weak to move on her own had been shot in the head lying in her bed. Carolina remembered little of the trip beyond that. Then she was naked, shaved, and forced into a shower. Then tossed into a dormitory and left there.

By the time the truck she had been on had made it to the camp, the Basterds had already made their splash at the premiere of Stoltz der Nation and the German forces, leaderless were running on automatic. Soon after her arrival the guards abandoned the grounds, leaving their captives locked in to starve.

Others who had been there longer feared attempting to escape the barracks, sure they would be shot. Eventually hunger drove them all out only to find that the fence was still electrified, but by that point, Carolina had eaten almost nothing for two weeks and was certain she would have been too weak to climb it anyway.

She often thought of her Basterd, as she had come to think of Wilhelm Wicki in her mind, as she lay there waiting to die. Thought of him walking in circles around the base of the Eiffel Tower, awaiting her arrival and she would never appear. The look she imagined on his face both pained and strengthened her. She wouldn't give up, she would see him again.

The day that the unknowing American private came stumbling out of the woods, no doubt following the stench of the bodies (at first the survivors had piled the dead in one place, but eventually everyone was too weak to try anymore), Carolina thought she had died. But she hadn't and soon she and the others who were still breathing were being treated by Army medics.

Most of the next few weeks were a blur. But Hitler was dead. The Third Reich had fallen and word was a team of Jewish American intelligence officers and a high ranking SS officer had been the key. Word was, however, that the unit had suffered heavy losses.

She ignored that particular rumor and focused on getting healthy enough to make it to Paris in less than a year.

The first day had been expectant. Walking in a circle around the feet of the structure, hoping to see his face. Hear his voice. But nothing.

The second and third days, she had been strong. Thinking she had gotten the date wrong. She had been a little out of contact on the actual day, after all. That was all it was. She had come too early. He would be here. Surely.

The fourth day, doubt had crept in. Maybe he wasn't coming because he couldn't. Maybe he had been killed. But that wasn't possible. He was a Nazi killer. He carried a gun and a huge knife. Of course he had made it through. There was no way that he couldn't have. She needed him to be there. She needed him to be ok.

The fifth day the tears had started. She sat in the lane and cried herself senseless. She had to accept it now. He wasn't going to show. He hadn't made it. And she had made him promise. She had made him break his word and somehow she felt worst about that. So she sat and cried until her tears ran out and the sun sank low over the city. At nightfall, she left.

Today was more of a vigil. Having slept alone with the facts for a night, she decided to honor his memory. Today she walked strong. Head up, eyes bright, her hips a shadow of their former selves swished beneath her skirt. She climbed the stairs to the first tier and looked out on the city, breathing in deeply. Glad to be alive. A strong breeze caught her still short hair, whisking it around her face and she caught a trace of a familiar scent. German cigarette smoke, cheap beer, sweat and blood. _Schatze_ she heard his voice in her ear, turning she expected to see him, but as the breeze died so did the sense of his presence. But that was ok, she closed her eyes to it. "Thank you, Wilhelm Wicki. I could have loved you."

The wind carried her words away, and she sighed. She knew he had wanted to be here and she knew that whatever he and the Basterds had done had kept her and countless others alive. She smiled sadly to herself, "I guess that'll have to be enough."


End file.
